" McClintock without further speech strode toward his bungalow; and half an hour later Spurlock, passing, heard the piano-tuning key at work. And what was singular she did not recount to the doctor that morning's adventure. But there was only Gosse, still struggling with the picture, looking dazedly towards Melusine and the lad he had shot, then away towards the sounds of pursuit, and back again. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. There was hope for me then.
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